Lippincott's Magazine of Popular Literature and Science, Vol. 17, by Various

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Bhima Gandharva looked me full in the face, and, smiling gently, said,"They would if they could."

The Jains are considered to have been the architects _par excellence_of India, and there are many monuments, in all styles, of their skillin this kind. The strange statues of the Tirthankars in the gorgecalled the Ourwhai of Gwalior were (until injured by the "march ofimprovement") among the most notable of the forms of rock-cutting.These vary in size from statuettes of a foot in height to colossalfigures of sixty feet, and nothing can be more striking than thesegreat forms, hewn from the solid rock, represented entirely nude,with their impassive countenances, which remind every traveler ofthe Sphinx, their grotesque ears hanging down to their shoulders, andtheir heads, about which plays a ring of serpents for a halo, or outof which grows the mystical three-branched _Kalpa Vrich_, or Tree ofKnowledge.

The sacred hill of Sunaghur, lying a few miles to the south ofGwalior, is one of the Meccas of the Jains, and is covered withtemples in many styles, which display the fertility of theirarchitectural invention: there are over eighty of these structures inall.

"And now," said Bhima Gandharva next day, "while you are thinking upontemples, and wondering if the Hindus have all been fools, you shouldcomplete your collection of mental materials by adding to the sightyou have had of a Hindu temple proper, and to the description you havehad of Jain temples proper, a sight of those marvelous subterraneanworks of the Buddhists proper which remain to us. We might selectour examples of these either at Ellora or at Ajunta (which are on themainland a short distance to the north-east of Bombay), the latterof which contains the most complete series of purely Buddhistic cavesknown in the country; or, indeed, we could find Buddhistic caves justyonder on Salsette. But let us go and see Karli at once: it is thelargest _shaitya_ (or cave-temple) in India."

Accordingly, we took railway at Bombay, sped along the isle, over thebridge to the island of Salsette, along Salsette to Tannah, thenover the bridge which connects Salsette with the mainland, across thenarrow head of Bombay harbor, and so on to the station at Khandalla,about halfway between Bombay and Poonah, where we disembarked. Thecaves of Karli are situated but a few miles from Khandalla, and ina short time we were standing in front of a talus at the foot of asloping hill whose summit was probably five to six hundred feet high.A flight of steps cut in the hillside led up to a ledge running outfrom an escarpment which was something above sixty feet high beforegiving off into the slope of the mountain. From the narrow andpicturesque valley a flight of steps cut in the hillside led up to theplatform. We could not see the facade of the shaitya on account ofthe concealing boscage of trees. On ascending the steps, however, andpassing a small square Brahmanic chapel, where we paid a triflingfee to the priests who reside there for the purpose of protecting theplace, the entire front of the excavation revealed itself, and withevery moment of gazing grew in strangeness and solemn mystery.

The shaitya is hewn in the solid rock of the mountain. Just to theleft of the entrance stands a heavy pillar (_Silasthamba_) completelydetached from the temple, with a capital upon whose top stand fourlions back to back. On this pillar is an inscription in Pali, whichhas been deciphered, and which is now considered to fix the dateof the excavation conclusively at not later than the second centurybefore the Christian era. The eye took in at first only the vagueconfusion of windows and pillars cut in the rock. It is supposedthat originally a music-gallery stood here in front, consisting ofa balcony supported out from the two octagonal pillars, and probablyroofed or having a second balcony above. But the woodwork is now gone.One soon felt one's attention becoming concentrated, however, upon agreat arched window cut in the form of a horseshoe, through which onecould look down what was very much like the nave of a church runningstraight back into the depths of the hill. Certainly, at first, as onepasses into the strange vestibule which intervenes still between thefront and the interior of the shaitya, one does not think at all--oneonly _feels_ the dim sense of mildness raying out from the greatfaces of the elephants, and of mysterious far-awayness conveyed by thebizarre postures of the sculptured figures on the walls.

Entering the interior, a central nave stretches back between twolines of pillars, each of whose capitals supports upon its abacus twokneeling elephants: upon each elephant are seated two figures, mostof which are male and female pairs. The nave extends eighty-one feetthree inches back, the whole length of the temple being one hundredand two feet three inches. There are fifteen pillars on each sidethe nave, which thus enclose between themselves and the wall twoside-aisles, each about half the width of the nave, the latter beingtwenty-five feet and seven inches in width, while the whole width fromwall to wall is forty-five feet and seven inches. At the rear, in asort of apse, are seven plain octagonal pillars--the other thirty aresculptured. Just in front of these seven pillars is the _Daghaba_--adomed structure covered by a wooden parasol. The Daghaba is thereliquary in which or under which some relic of Gotama Buddhais enshrined. The roof of the shaitya is vaulted, and ribs ofteak-wood--which could serve no possible architectural purpose--revealthemselves, strangely enough, running down the sides.

As I took in all these details, pacing round the dark aisles, andfinally resuming my stand near the entrance, from which I perceivedthe aisles, dark between the close pillars and the wall, while thelight streamed through the great horseshoe window full upon theDaghaba at the other end, I exclaimed to Bhima Gandharva, "Why, it isthe very copy of a Gothic church--the aisles, the nave, the vaultedroof, and all--and yet you tell me it was excavated two thousand yearsago!"

"The resemblance has struck every traveler," he replied. "And, strangeto say, all the Buddhist cave-temples are designed upon the samegeneral plan. There is always the organ-loft, as you see there; alwaysthe three doors, the largest one opening on the nave, the smaller oneseach on its side-aisle; always the window throwing its light directlyon the Daghaba at the other end; always, in short, the generalarrangement of the choir of a Gothic round or polygonal apsecathedral. It is supposed that the devotees were confined to the frontpart of the temple, and that the great window through which the lightcomes was hidden from view, both outside by the music-galleries andscreens, and inside through the disposition of the worshipers infront. The gloom of the interior was thus available to the priests forthe production of effects which may be imagined."

Emerging from the temple, we saw the Buddhist monastery (_Vihara_),which is a series of halls and cells rising one above the other instories connected by flights of steps, all hewn in the face of thehill at the side of the temple. We sat down on a fragment of rock neara stream of water with which a spring in the hillside fills a littlepool at the entrance of the Vihara. "Tell me something of GotamaBuddha," I said. "Recite some of his deliverances, O BhimaGandharva!--you who know everything."

"I will recite to you from the _Sutta Nipata_, which is supposed bymany pundits of Ceylon to contain several of the oldest examples ofthe Pali language. It professes to give the conversation of Buddha,who died five hundred and forty-three years before Christ lived onearth; and these utterances are believed by scholars to have beenbrought together at least more than two hundred years before theChristian era. The _Mahamangala Sutta_, of the _Nipata Sutta_, says,for example: 'Thus it was heard by me. At a certain time Bhagava(Gotama Buddha) lived at Savatthi in Jetavana, in the garden ofAnathupindika. Then, the night being far advanced, a certain god,endowed with a radiant color illuminating Jetavana completely, came towhere Bhagava was, [and] making obeisance to him, stood on one side.And, standing on one side, the god addressed Bhagava in [these]verses:

"1. Many gods and men, longing after what is good, have considered many things as blessings. Tell us what is the greatest blessing.

"2. Buddha said: Not serving fools, but serving the wise, and honoring those worthy of being honored: this is the greatest blessing.

"3. The living in a fit country, meritorious deeds done in a former existence, the righteous establishment of one's self: this is the greatest blessing.

"4. Extensive knowledge and science, well-regulated discipline and well-spoken speech: this is the greatest blessing.

"5. The helping of father and mother, the cherishing of child and wife, and the following of a lawful calling: this is the greatest blessing.

"6. The giving alms, a religious life, aid rendered to relatives, blameless acts: this is the greatest blessing.

"7. The abstaining from sins and the avoiding them, the eschewing of intoxicating drink, diligence in good deeds: this is the greatest blessing.

"8. Reverence and humility, contentment and gratefulness, the hearing of the law in the right time: this is the greatest blessing.

"9. Patience and mild speech, the association with those who have subdued their passions, the holding of religious discourse in the right time: this is the greatest blessing.

"10. Temperance and charity, the discernment of holy truth, the perception of Nibbana: this is the greatest blessing.

"11. The mind of any one unshaken by the ways of the world, exemption from sorrow, freedom from passion, and security: this is the greatest blessing.

"12. Those who having done these things become invincible on all sides, attain happiness on all sides: this is the greatest blessing."

"At another time also Gotama Buddha was discoursing on caste. You knowthat the Hindus are divided into the Brahmans, or the priestlycaste, which is the highest; next the Kshatriyas, or the warrior andstatesman caste; next the Vaishyas, or the herdsman and farmer caste;lastly, the Sudras, or the menial caste. Now, once upon a time the twoyouths Vasettha and Bharadvaja had a discussion as to what constitutesa Brahman. Thus, Vasettha and Bharadvaja went to the place whereBhagava was, and having approached him were well pleased with him; andhaving finished a pleasing and complimentary conversation, they satdown on one side. Vasettha, who sat down on one side, addressed Buddhain verse: ...

"3. O Gotama! we have a controversy regarding [the distinctions of] birth. Thus know, O wise one! the point of difference between us: Bharadvaja says that a Brahman is such by reason of his birth.

"4. But I affirm that he is such by reason of his conduct....

"7. Bhagava replied: ...

"53. I call him alone a Brahman who is fearless, eminent, heroic, a great sage, a conqueror, freed from attachments--one who has bathed in the waters of wisdom, and is a Buddha.

"54. I call him alone a Brahman who knows his former abode, who sees both heaven and hell, and has reached the extinction of births.

"55. What is called 'name' or 'tribe' in the world arises from usage only. It is adopted here and there by common consent.

"56. It comes from long and uninterrupted usage, and from the false belief of the ignorant. Hence the ignorant assert that a Brahman is such from birth.

"57. One is not a Brahman nor a non-Brahman by birth: by his conduct alone is he a Brahman, and by his conduct alone is he a non-Brahman,

"58. By his conduct he is a husbandman, an artisan, a merchant, a servant;

"59. By his conduct he is a thief, a warrior, a sacrificer, a king....

"62. One is a Brahman from penance, charity, observance of the moral precepts and the subjugation of the passions. Such is the best kind of Brahmanism."

"That would pass for very good republican doctrine in Jonesville," Isaid. "What a pity you have all so backslidden from your orthodoxieshere in India, Bhima Gandharva! In my native land there is a regionwhere many orange trees grow. Sometimes, when a tree is too heavilyfertilized, it suddenly shoots out in great luxuriance, and looks asif it were going to make oranges enough for the whole world, so tospeak. But somehow, no fruit comes: it proves to be all wood and nooranges, and presently the whole tree changes and gets sick and goodfor nothing. It is a disease which the natives call 'the dieback.'Now, it seems to me that when you old Aryans came from--from--well,from wherever you _did_ come from--you branched out at first into asuperb magnificence of religions and sentiments and imaginations andother boscage. But it looks now as if you were really bad off with thedieback."

It was, however, impossible to perceive that Bhima Gandharva's smilewas like anything other than the same plain full of ripe corn.

LADY ARTHUR EILDON'S DYING LETTER.

I.

Lady Arthur Eildon was a widow: she was a remarkable woman, and herhusband, Lord Arthur Eildon, had been a remarkable man. He was abrother of the duke of Eildon, and was very remarkable in his day forhis love of horses and dogs. But this passion did not lead him intoany evil ways: he was a thoroughly upright, genial man, with a frankword for every one, and was of course a general favorite. "He'll justcome in and crack away as if he was ane o' oorsels," was a remarkoften made concerning him by the people on his estates; for he hadestates which had been left to him by an uncle, and which, withthe portion that fell to him as a younger son, yielded him an amplerevenue, so that he had no need to do anything.

What talents he might have developed in the army or navy, or evenin the Church, no one knows, for he never did anything in this worldexcept enjoy himself; which was entirely natural to him, and not thehard work it is to many people who try it. He was in Parliament fora number of years, but contented himself with giving his vote. Hedid not distinguish himself. He was not an able or intellectual man:people said he would never set the Thames on fire, which was true;but if an open heart and hand and a frank tongue are desirable things,these he had. As he took in food, and it nourished him without furtherintervention on his part, so he took in enjoyment and gave it out tothe people round him with equal unconsciousness. Let it not be saidthat such a man as this is of no value in a world like ours: he is atonce an anodyne and a stimulant of the healthiest and most innocentkind.

As was meet, he first saw the lady who was to be his wife in thehunting-field. She was Miss Garscube of Garscube, an only child andan heiress. She was a fast young lady when as yet fastness was a raredevelopment:--a harbinger of the fast period, the one swallow thatpresages summer, but does not make it--and as such much in the mouthsof the public.

Miss Garscube was said to be clever--she was certainly eccentric--andshe was no beauty, but community of tastes in the matter of horses anddogs drew her and Lord Arthur together.

On one of the choicest of October days, when she was following thehounds, and her horse had taken the fences like a creature with wings,he came to one which he also flew over, but fell on the other side,throwing off his rider--on soft grass, luckily. But almost before anexclamation of alarm could leave the mouths of the hunters behind,Miss Garscube was on her feet and in the saddle, and her horse awayagain, as if both had been ignorant of the little mishap that hadoccurred. Lord Arthur was immediately behind, and witnessed this bitof presence of mind and pluck with unfeigned admiration: it won hisheart completely; and on her part she enjoyed the genuineness of hishomage as she had never enjoyed anything before, and from that daythings went on and prospered between them.

People who knew both parties regretted this, and shook their headsover it, prophesying that no good could come of it. Miss Garscube'swill had never been crossed in her life, and she was a "clever" woman:Lord Arthur would not submit to her domineering ways, and she wouldwince under and be ashamed of his want of intellect. All this wasforetold and thoroughly believed by people having the most perfectconfidence in their own judgment, so that Lord Arthur and his wifeought to have been, in the very nature of things, a most wretchedpair. But, as it turned out, no happier couple existed in GreatBritain. Their qualities must have been complementary, for theydovetailed into each other as few people do; and the wise personswho had predicted the contrary were entirely thrown out in theircalculations--a fact which they speedily forgot; nor did it diminishtheir faith in their own wisdom, as, indeed, how could one slightmistake stand against an array of instances in which their predictionshad been verified to the letter?

Lord Arthur might not have the intellect which fixes the attention ofa nation, but he had plenty for his own fireside--at least, his wifenever discovered any want of it--and as for her strong will, theyhad only one strong will between them, so that there could be nocollision. Being thus thoroughly attached and thoroughly happy, whatcould occur to break up this happiness? A terrible thing came topass. Having had perfect health up to middle life, an acutely painfuldisease seized Lord Arthur, and after tormenting him for more than ayear it changed his face and sent him away.

There is nothing more striking than the calmness and dignity withwhich people will meet death--even people from whom this could nothave been expected. No one who did not know it would have guessed howLord Arthur was suffering, and he never spoke of it, least of all tohis wife; while she, acutely aware of it and vibrating with sympathy,never spoke of it to him; and they were happy as those are who knowthat they are drinking the last drops of earthly happiness. He diedwith his wife's hand in his grasp: she gave the face--dead, but withthe appearance of life not vanished from it--one long, passionatekiss, and left him, nor ever looked on it again.

Lady Arthur secluded herself for some weeks in her own room, seeing noone but the servants who attended her; and when she came forth it wasfound that her eccentricity had taken a curious turn: she steadilyignored the death of her husband, acting always as if he had gone on ajourney and might at any moment return, but never naming him unless itwas absolutely necessary. She found comfort in this simulated delusionno doubt, just as a child enjoys a fairy-tale, knowing perfectly wellall the time that it is not true. People in her own sphere saidher mind was touched: the common people about her affirmed withouthesitation that she was "daft." She rode no more, but she kept allthe horses and dogs as usual. She cultivated a taste she had forantiquities; she wrote poetry--- ballad poetry--which people who wereconsidered judges thought well of; and flinging these and other thingsinto the awful chasm that had been made in her life, she tried herbest to fill it up. She set herself to consider the poor man's case,and made experiments and gave advice which confirmed her poorerbrethren in their opinion that she was daft; but as her hand wasalways very wide open, and they pitied her sorrow, she was much loved,although they laughed at her zeal in preserving old ruins and herwrath if an old stone was moved, and told, and firmly believed, thatshe wrote and posted letters to Lord Arthur. What was perhaps more tothe purpose of filling the chasm than any of these things, Lady Arthuradopted a daughter, an orphan child of a cousin of her own, who cameto her two years after her husband's death, a little girl of nine.

II.

Alice Garscube's education was not of the stereotyped kind. Whenshe came to Garscube Hall, Lady Arthur wrote to the head-master ofa normal school asking if he knew of a healthy, sagacious,good-tempered, clever girl who had a thorough knowledge of theelementary branches of education and a natural taste for teaching. Mr.Boyton, the head-master, replied that he knew of such a person whom hecould entirely recommend, having all the qualities mentioned; butwhen he found that it was not a teacher for a village school that herladyship wanted, but for her own relation, he wrote to say that hedoubted the party he had in view would hardly be suitable: her father,who had been dead for some years, was a workingman, and her mother,who had died quite recently, supported herself by keeping a littleshop, and she herself was in appearance and manner scarcely enoughof the lady for such a situation. Now, Lady Arthur, though a firmbeliever in birth and race, and by habit and prejudice an aristocratand a Tory, was, we know, eccentric by nature, and Nature will alwaysassert itself. She wrote to Mr. Boyton that if the girl he recommendedwas all he said, she was a lady inside, and they would leave theoutside to shift for itself. Her ladyship had considered the matter.She could get decayed gentlewomen and clergymen and officers'daughters by the dozen, but she did not want a girl with a sicklyknowledge of everything, and very sickly ideas of her own merits andplace and work in the world: she wanted a girl of natural sagacity,who from her cradle had known that she came into the world to dosomething, and had learned how to do it.

"MADAM: I am very much tempted to take the situation you offer me. If I were teacher of a village school, as I had intended, when my work in the school was over I should have had my time to myself; and I wish to stipulate that when the hours of teaching Miss Garscube are over I may have the same privilege. If you engage me, I think, so far as I know myself, you will not be disappointed.

"I am," etc. etc.

To which Lady Arthur:

"So far as I can judge, you are the very thing I want. Come, and we shall not disagree about terms," etc. etc.

Thus it came about that Miss Garscube was unusually lucky in thematter of her education and Miss Adamson in her engagement. Althougheccentric to the pitch of getting credit for being daft, Lady Arthurhad a strong vein of masculine sense, which in all essential thingskept her in the right path. Miss Adamson and she suited each otherthoroughly, and the education of the two ladies and the child may besaid to have gone on simultaneously. Miss Adamson had an absorbingpursuit: she was an embryo artist, and she roused a kindred taste inher pupil; so that, instead of carrying on her work in solitude, asshe had expected to do, she had the intense pleasure of sympathyand companionship. Lady Arthur often paid them long visits in theirstudio; she herself sketched a little, but she had never excelled inany single pursuit except horsemanship, and that she had given up ather husband's death, as she had given up keeping much company or goingoften into society.

In this quiet, unexciting, regular life Lady Arthur's antiquariantastes grew on her, and she went on writing poetry, the quantity ofwhich was more remarkable than the quality, although here and there inthe mass of ore there was an occasional sparkle from fine gold (thereare few voluminous writers in which this accident does not occur). Shesuperintended excavations, and made prizes of old dust and stonesand coins and jewelry (or what was called ancient jewelry: it lookedancient enough, but more like rusty iron to the untrained eye thanjewelry) and cooking utensils supposed to have been used by some noblesavages or other. Of these and such like she had a museum, and shevisited old monuments and cairns and Roman camps and Druidical remainsand old castles, and all old things, with increasing interest. Therewere a number of places near or remote to which she was in the habitof making periodical pilgrimages--places probably dear to her fromwhim or association or natural beauty or antiquity. When she fixed atime for such an excursion, no weather changed her purpose: it mightpour rain or deep snow might be on the ground: she only put fourhorses to her carriage instead of two, and went on her way. She wasgenerally accompanied in these expeditions by her two young friends,who got into the spirit of the thing and enjoyed them amazingly. Theywere in the habit of driving to some farm-house, where they left thecarriage and on foot ascended the hill they had come to call on, mostprobably a hill with the marks of a Roman camp on it--there are manysuch in the south of Scotland--hills called "the rings" by the people,from the way in which the entrenchments circle round them like rings.

Dear to Lady Arthur's heart was such a place as this. Even when theground was covered with snow or ice she would ascend with the help ofa stick or umbrella, a faint adumbration of the Alpine Club when asyet the Alpine Club lurked in the future and had given no hint of itsexistence. On the top of such a hill she would eat luncheon, thinkingof the dust of legions beneath her foot, and drink wine to the memoryof the immortals. The coachman and the footman who toiled up the hillbearing the luncheon-basket, and slipping back two steps for every onethey took forward, had by no means the same respect for the immortalheroes. The coachman was an old servant, and had a great regard forLady Arthur both as his mistress and as a lady of rank, besides beingaccustomed to and familiar with her whims, and knowing, as he said,"the best and the warst o' her;" but the footman was a new acquisitionand young, and he had not the wisdom to see at all times the duty ofgiving honor to whom honor is due, nor yet had he the spirit of theborn flunkey; and his intercourse with the nobility, unfortunately,had not impressed him with any other idea than that they were mortalslike himself; so he remarked to his fellow-servant, "Od! ye wad think,if she likes to eat her lunch amang snawy slush, she might get enoughof it at the fut o' the hill, without gaun to the tap."

"Weel, I'll no deny," said the older man, "but what it's daftlike, butif it is her leddyship's pleasure, it's nae business o' oors."

"Pleasure!" said the youth: "if she ca's this pleasure, her friendsshould see about shutting her up: it's time."

"She says the Romans once lived here," said John.

"If they did," Thomas said, "I daur say _they_ had mair sinse than sitdown to eat their dinner in the middle o' snaw if they had a house totak it in."

"Her leddyship does na' tak the cauld easy," said John.

"She has the constitution o' a horse," Thomas remarked.

"Man," said John, "that shows a' that ye ken about horses: there's noa mair delicate beast on the face o' the earth than the horse. Theytell me a' the horses in London hae the influenza the now."

When luncheon was over her ladyship as often as not ordered herservants to take the carriage round by the turnpike-road to a givenpoint, where she arranged to meet it, while she herself struck rightover the hills as the crow flies, crossing the burns on her way in thesame manner as the Israelites crossed the Red Sea, only the water didnot stand up on each side and leave dry ground for her to tread on;but she ignored the water altogether, and walked straight through.The young ladies, knowing this, took an extra supply of stockings andshoes with them, but Lady Arthur despised such effeminate ways anddrove home in the footgear she set out in. She was a woman of robusthealth, and having grown stout and elderly and red-faced, when outon the tramp and divested of externals she might very well have beentaken for the eccentric landlady of a roadside inn or the mistressof a luncheon-bar; and probably her young footman did not think sheanswered to her own name at all.

There is a divinity that doth hedge a king, but it is the king'swisdom to keep the hedge close and well trimmed and allow no gaps: ifthere are gaps, people see through them and the illusion is destroyed.Lady Arthur was not a heroine to her footman; and when she traversedthe snow-slush and walked right through the burns, he merely endorsedthe received opinion that she wanted "twopence of the shilling." Ifshe had been a poor woman and compelled to take such a journey in suchweather, people would have felt sorry for her, and have been ready tosubscribe to help her to a more comfortable mode of traveling; butin Lady Arthur's case of course there was nothing to be done but towonder at her eccentricity.

But her ladyship knew what she was about. The sleep as well as thefood of the laboring man is sweet, and if nobility likes to labor, itwill partake of the poor man's blessing. The party arrived back amongthe luxurious appointments of Garscube Hall (which were apt to pall onthem at times) legitimately and bodily _tired_, and that in itselfwas a sensation worth working for. They had braved difficulty anddiscomfort, and not for a nonsensical and fruitless end, either: itcan never be fruitless or nonsensical to get face to face with Naturein any of her moods. The ice-locked streams, the driven snow, thesleep of vegetation, a burst of sunshine over the snow, the sough ofthe winter wind, Earth waiting to feel the breath of spring on herface to waken up in youth and beauty again, like the sleeping princessat the touch of the young prince,--all these are things richly tobe enjoyed, especially by strong, healthy people: let chilly andshivering mortals sing about cozy fires and drawn curtains if theylike. Besides, Miss Adamson had the eye of an artist, upon whichnothing, be it what it may, is thrown away.

But an expedition to a hill with "rings" undertaken on a longmidsummer day looked fully more enjoyable to the common mind: John,and even the footman approved of that, and another individual, whohad become a frequent visitor at the hall, approved of it very highlyindeed, and joined such a party as often as he could.

This was George Eildon, the only son of a brother of the late LordArthur.

Now comes the tug--well, not of war, certainly, but, to change thefigure--now comes the cloud no bigger than a man's hand which is toobscure the quiet sunshine of the regular and exemplary life of thesethree ladies.

Having been eight years at Garscube Hall, as a matter of necessityand in the ordinary course of Nature, Alice Garscube had grown up towomanhood. With accustomed eccentricity, Lady Arthur entirelyignored this. As for bringing her "out," as the phrase is, she hadno intention of it, considering that one of the follies of life: LadyArthur was always a law to herself. Alice was a shy, amiable girl, wholoved her guardian fervently (her ladyship had the knack of gaininglove, and also of gaining the opposite in pretty decisive measure),and was entirely swayed by her; indeed, it never occurred to herto have a will of her own, for her nature was peculiarly sweet andguileless.

III.

Lady Arthur thought George Eildon a good-natured, rattling lad, withvery little head. This was precisely the general estimate that hadbeen formed of her late husband, and people who had known both thoughtGeorge the very fac-simile of his uncle Arthur. If her ladyship hadbeen aware of this, it would have made her very indignant: she hadthought her husband perfect while living, and thought of him as verymuch more than perfect now that he lived only in her memory. But shemade George very welcome as often as he came: she liked to have him inthe house, and she simply never thought of Alice and him in connectionwith each other. She always had a feeling of pity for George.

"You know," she would say to Miss Adamson and Alice--"you know, Georgewas of consequence for the first ten years of his life: it was thoughtthat his uncle the duke might never marry, and he was the heir;but when the duke married late in life and had two sons, George wasextinguished, poor fellow! and it was hard, I allow."

"It is not pleasant to be a poor gentleman," said Miss Adamson.

"It is not only not pleasant," said Lady Arthur, "but it is afalse position, which is very trying, and what few men can fill toadvantage. If George had great abilities, it might be different, withhis connection, but I doubt he is doomed to be always as poor as achurch mouse."

"He may get on in his profession perhaps," said Alice, sharing inLady Arthur's pity for him. (George Eildon had been an attache to someforeign embassy.)

"Never," said Lady Arthur decisively. "Besides, it is a professionthat is out of date now. Men don't go wilily to work in these days;but if they did, the notion of poor George, who could not keep asecret or tell a lie with easy grace if it were to save his life--thenotion of making him a diplomatist is very absurd. No doubt statesmenare better without original ideas--their business is to pick out thepractical ideas of other men and work them well--but George wantsability, poor fellow! They ought to have put him into the Church: hereads well, he could have read other men's sermons very effectively,and the duke has some good livings in his gift."

Now, Miss Adamson had been brought up a Presbyterian of thePresbyterians, and among people to whom "the paper" was abhorrent:to read a sermon was a sin--to read another man's sermon was a sinof double-dyed blackness. However, either her opinions were beingcorrupted or enlightened, either she was growing lax in principle orshe was learning the lesson of toleration, for she allowed the remarksof Lady Arthur to pass unnoticed, so that that lady did not need toadvance the well-known opinion and practice of Sir Roger de Coverleyto prop her own.

"I think not. If he had abilities, he would have been showing them bythis time. But of course I don't blame him: few of the Eildons havebeen men of mark--none in recent times except Lord Arthur--but theyhave all been respectable men, whose lives would stand inspection; andGeorge is the equal of any of them in that respect. As a clergyman hewould have set a good example."

Hearing a person always pitied and spoken slightingly of does notpredispose any one to fall in love with that person. Miss Garscube'sfeelings of this nature still lay very closely folded up in the bud,and the early spring did not come at this time to develop them in theshape of George Eildon; but Mr. Eildon was sufficiently foolish andindiscreet to fall in love with her. Miss Adamson was the only one ofthe three ladies cognizant of this state of affairs, but as her creedwas that no one had any right to make or meddle in a thing of thiskind, she saw as if she saw not, though very much interested. She sawthat Miss Garscube was as innocent of the knowledge that she had madea conquest as it was possible to be, and she felt surprised that LadyArthur's sight was not sharper. But Lady Arthur was--or at least hadbeen--a woman of the world, and the idea of a penniless man allowinghimself to fall in love seriously with a penniless girl in actuallife could not find admission into her mind: if she had been writinga ballad it would have been different; indeed, if you had only knownLady Arthur through her poetry, you might have believed her to be avery, romantic, sentimental, unworldly person, for she really was allthat--on paper.

Mr. Eildon was very frequently in the studio where Miss Adamson andher pupil worked, and he was always ready to accompany them in theirexcursions, and, Lady Arthur said, "really made himself very useful."

It has been said that John and Thomas both approved of her ladyship'ssummer expeditions in search of the picturesque, or whatever else shemight take it into her head to look for; and when she issued ordersfor a day among the hills in a certain month of August, which had beena specially fine month in point of weather, every one was pleased.But John and Thomas found it nearly as hard work climbing with theluncheon-basket in the heat of the midsummer sun as it was when theyclimbed to the same elevation in midwinter; only they did not slipback so fast, nor did they feel that they were art and part in a"daftlike" thing.

"Here," said Lady Arthur, raising her glass to her lips--"here is tothe memory of the Romans, on whose dust we are resting."

"Amen!" said Mr. Eildon; "but I am afraid you don't find their dust avery soft resting-place: they were always a hard people, the Romans."

"They were a people I admire," said Lady Arthur. "If they had not beencalled away by bad news from home, if they had been able to stay, ourcivilization might have been a much older thing than it is.--What do_you_ think, John?" she said, addressing her faithful servitor. "Lessthan a thousand years ago all that stretch of country that we see sorichly cultivated and studded with cozy farm-houses was brushwoodand swamp, with a handful of savage inhabitants living in wigwams anddressing in skins."

"It may be so," said John--"no doubt yer leddyship kens best--but Ihave this to say: if they were savages they had the makin' o' men inthem. Naebody'll gar me believe that the stock yer leddyship and mecam o' was na a capital gude stock."

"All right, John," said Mr. Eildon, "if you include me."

"It was a long time to take, surely," said Alice--"a thousand years tobring the country from brushwood and swamp to corn and burns confinedto their beds,"

"Nature is never in a hurry, Alice," replied Lady Arthur.

"But she is always busy in a wonderfully quiet way," said MissAdamson. "Whenever man begins to work he makes a noise, but no onehears the corn grow or the leaves burst their sheaths: even the cloudsmove with noiseless grace."

"The clouds are what no one can understand yet, I suppose," said Mr.Eildon, "but they don't always look as if butter wouldn't melt intheir mouths, as they are doing to-day. What do you say to thunder?"

"That is an exception: Nature does all her best work quietly."

"So does man," remarked George Eildon.

"Well, I dare say you are right, after all," said Miss Adamson, whowas sketching. "I wish I could paint in the glitter on the blade ofthat reaping-machine down in the haugh there: see, it gleams everytime the sun's rays hit it. It is curious how Nature makes the mostof everything to heighten her picture, and yet never makes her brightpoints too plentiful."

Just at that moment the sun's rays seized a small pane of glass in theroof of a house two or three miles off down the valley, and it shotout light and sparkles that dazzled the eye to look at.

"That is a fine effect," cried Alice: "it looks like the eye of anarchangel kindling up,"

"What a flight of fancy, Alice!" Lady Arthur said. "Thatreaping-machine does its work very well, but it will be a long timebefore it gathers a crust of poetry about it: stopping to cleara stone out of its way is different from a lad and a lass on theharvest-rig, the one stopping to take a thorn out of the finger of theother."

"There are so many wonderful things," said Alice, "that one getsalways lost among them. How the clouds float is wonderful, and thatwith the same earth below and the same heaven above, the heathershould be purple, and the corn yellow, and the ferns green, iswonderful; but not so wonderful, I think, as that a man by the touchof genius should have made every one interested in a field-laborertaking a thorn out of the hand of another field-laborer. Catch yourpoet, and he'll soon make the machine interesting."

"Get a thorn into your finger, Alice," said George Eildon, "and I'lltake it out if it is so interesting."

"You could not make it interesting," said she.

"Just try," he said.

"But trying won't do. You know as well as I that there are things notrying will ever do. I am trying to paint, for instance, and in time Ishall copy pretty well, but I shall never do more."

"Hush, hush!" said Miss Adamson. "I'm often enough in despair myself,and hearing you say that makes me worse. I rebel at having got just somuch brain and no more; but I suppose," she said with a sigh, "ifwe make the best of what we have, it's all right, and if we hadwell-balanced minds we should be contented."

"Would you like to stay here longer among the hills and the sheep?"said Lady Arthur. "I have just remembered that I want silks for myembroidery, and I have time to go to town: I can catch the afternoontrain. Do any of you care to go?"

"It is good to be here," said Mr. Eildon, "but as we can't stayalways, we may as well go now. I suppose."

And John, accustomed to sudden orders, hurried off to get his horsesput to the carriage.

Lady Arthur, upon the whole, approved of railways, but did not usethem much except upon occasion; and it was only by taking the trainshe could reach town and be home for dinner on this day.

They reached the station in time, and no more. Mr. Eildon ran and gottickets, and John was ordered to be at the station nearest GarscubeHall to meet them when they returned.

Embroidery, being an art which high-born dames have practiced from theearliest ages, was an employment that had always found favor in thesight of Lady Arthur, and to which she turned when she wanted changeof occupation. She took a very short time to select her materials, andthey were back and seated in the railway carriage fully ten minutesbefore the train started. They beguiled the time by looking about thestation: it was rather a different scene from that where they had beenin the fore part of the day.

"There's surely a mistake," said Mr. Eildon, pointing to a largepicture hanging on the wall of three sewing-machines worked by threeladies, the one in the middle being Queen Elizabeth in her ruff, theone on the right Queen Victoria in her widow's cap: the princessof Wales was very busy at the third. "Is not that what is called ananachronism, Miss Adamson? Are not sewing-machines a recent invention?There were none in Elizabeth's time, I think?"

"There are people," said Lady Arthur, "who have neither common sensenor a sense of the ridiculous."

"But they have a sense of what will pay," answered her nephew. "Thatappeals to the heart of the nation--that is, to the masculine heart.If Queen Bess had been handling a lancet, and Queen Vic pounding in amortar with a pestle, assisted by her daughter-in-law, the case wouldhave been different; but they are at useful womanly work, and themachines will sell. They have fixed themselves in our memoriesalready: that's the object the advertiser had when he pressed thepassion of loyalty into his service."

"How will the strong-minded Tudor lady like to see herself revived inthat fashion, if she can see it?" asked Miss Garscube.

"She'll like it well, judging by myself," said George: "that's truefame. I should be content to sit cross-legged on a board, stitchingpulpit-robes, in a picture, if I were sure it would be hung up threehundred years after this at all the balloon-stations and have the thenMiss Garscubes making remarks about me."

"They might not make very complimentary remarks, perhaps," said Alice.

"If they thought of me at all I should be satisfied," said he.

"Couldn't you invent an iron bed, then?" said Miss Adamson, looking ata representation of these articles hanging alongside the three royalladies. "Perhaps they'll last three hundred years, and if you couldbind yourself up with the idea of sweet repose--"

"They maybe cheap and nasty," said George, "but new-fangled they arenot: they must be some thousands of years old. I am afraid, my dearaunt, you don't read your Bible."

"Don't drag the Bible in among your nonsense. What has it to do withiron beds?" said Lady Arthur.

"If you look into Deuteronomy, third chapter and eleventh verse,"said he "you'll find that Og, king of Bashar used an iron bed. It isprobably in existence yet, and it must be quite old enough to make itworth your while to look after it: perhaps Mr. Cook would personallyconduct you, or if not I should be glad to be your escort."

"Thank you," she said: "when I go in search of Og's bed I'll take youwith me."

"You could not do better: I have the scent of a sleuth-hound forantiquities."

As they were speaking a man came and hung up beside the queens andthe iron beds a big white board on which were printed in large blackletters the words, "My Mother and I"--nothing more.

"What _can_ the meaning of that be?" asked Lady Arthur.

"To make you ask the meaning of it," said Mr. Eildon. "I who amskilled in these matters have no doubt that it is the herald of somesoothing syrup for the human race under the trials of teething." Hewas standing at the carriage-door till the train would start, and hestood aside to let a young lady and a boy in deep mourning enter. Thepair were hardly seated when the girl's eye fell on the great whiteboard and its announcement. She bent her head and hid her face in herhandkerchief: it was not difficult to guess that she had very recentlyparted with her mother for ever, and the words on the board were morethan she could stand unmoved.

Miss Adamson too had been thinking of her mother, the hard-workingwoman who had toiled in her little shop to support her sickly husbandand educate her daughter--the kindly patient face, the hands that hadnever spared themselves, the footsteps that had plodded so incessantlyto and fro. The all that had been gone so long came back to her, andshe felt almost the pang of first separation, when it seemed as if theend of her life had been extinguished and the motive-power for workhad gone. But she carried her mother in her heart: with her it wasstill "my mother and I."

Lady Arthur did not think of her mother: she had lost her early,and besides, her thoughts and feelings had been all absorbed by herhusband.

Alice Garscube had never known her mother, and as she looked gravelyat the girl who was crying behind her handkerchief, she enviedher--she had known her mother.

As for Mr. Eildon, he had none but bright and happy thoughts connectedwith his mother. It was true, she was a widow, but she was a kind andstately lady, round whom her family moved as round a sun and centre,giving light and heat and all good cheer; he could afford to jokeabout "my mother and I."

What a vast deal of varied emotion these words must have stirred inthe multitudes of travelers coming and going in all directions!

In jumping into the carriage when the last bell rang, Mr. Eildonmissed his footing and fell back, with no greater injury, fortunately,than grazing the skin, of his hand.

"Is it much hurt?" Lady Arthur asked.

He held it up and said, "'Who ran to help me when I fell?'"

"The guard," said Miss Garscube.

"'Who kissed the place to make it well?'" he continued.

"You might have been killed," said Miss Adamson.

"That would not have been a pretty story to tell," he said. "I shallneed to wait till I get home for the means of cure: 'my mother and I'will manage it. You're not of a pitiful nature, Miss Garscube."

"I keep my pity for a pitiful occasion," she said.

"If you had grazed your hand, I would have applied the prescribedcure."

"Well, but I'm very glad I have not grazed my hand,"

"So am I," he said.

"Let me see it," she said. He held it out. "Would something not needto be done for it?" she asked.

"Yes. Is it interesting--as interesting as the thorn?"

"It is nothing," said Lady Arthur: "a little lukewarm water is allthat it needs;" and she thought, "That lad will never do anythingeither for himself or to add to the prestige of the family. I hope hiscousins have more ability."

IV.

But what these cousins were to turn out no one knew. They had thatrank which gives a man what is equivalent to a start of half alifetime over his fellows, and they promised well; but they were onlyboys as yet, and Nature puts forth many a choice blossom and bud thatnever comes to maturity, or, meeting with blight or canker on the way,turns out poor fruit. The eldest, a lad in his teens, was travelingon the Continent with a tutor: the second, a boy who had been alwaysdelicate, was at home on account of his health. George Eildon wasintimate with both, and loved them with a love as true as that he boreto Alice Garscube: it never occurred to him that they had come intothe world to keep him out of his inheritance. He would have laughed atsuch an idea. Many people would have said that he was laughing onthe wrong side of his mouth: the worldly never can understand theunworldly.

Mr. Eildon gave Miss Garscube credit for being at least as unworldlyas himself: he believed thoroughly in her genuineness, her fresh,unspotted nature; and, the wish being very strong, he believed thatshe had a kindness for him.

When he and his hand got home he found it quite able to write hera letter, or rather not so much a letter as a burst of enthusiasticaspiration, asking her to marry him.

She was startled; and never having decided on anything in her life,she carried this letter direct to Lady Arthur.

"Here's a thing," she said, "that I don't know what to think of."

"What kind of thing, Alice?"

"A letter."

"Who is it from?"

"Mr. Eildon."

"Indeed! I should not think a letter from him would be a complicatedaffair or difficult to understand."

"Neither is it: perhaps you would read it?"

"Certainly, if you wish it." When she had read the document she said,"Well I never gave George credit for much wisdom, but I did not thinkhe was foolish enough for a thing like this; and I never suspected it.Are you in love too?" and Lady Arthur laughed heartily: it seemed tostrike her in a comic light.

"No. I never thought of it or of him either," Alice said, feelingqueer and uncomfortable.

"Then that simplifies matters. I always thought George's only chancein life was to marry a wealthy woman, and how many good, accomplishedwomen there are, positively made of money, who would give anything tomarry into our family!"

"Are there?" said Alice.

"To be sure there are. Only the other day I read in a newspaper thatpeople are all so rich now money is no distinction: rank is, however.You can't make a lawyer or a shipowner or an ironmaster into a peer ofseveral hundred years' descent."

"No, you can't," said Alice; "but Mr. Eildon is not a peer, you know."

"No, but he is the grandson of one duke and the nephew of another; andif he could work for it he might have a peerage of his own, or if hehad great wealth he would probably get one. For my own part, I don'tcount much on rank or wealth" (she believed this), "but they areprivileges people have no right to throw away."

"Not even if they don't care for them?" asked Alice,

"No: whatever you have it is your duty to care for and make the bestof."

"Then, what am I to say to Mr. Eildon?"

"Tell him it is absurd; and whatever you say, put it strongly, thatthere may be no more of it. Why, he must know that you would bebeggars."

Acting up to her instructions, Alice wrote thus to Mr. Eildon:

"DEAR MR. EILDON: Your letter surprised me. Lady Arthur says it is absurd; besides, I don't care for you a bit. I don't mean that I dislike you, for I don't dislike any one. We wonder you could be so foolish, and Lady Arthur says there must be no more of it; and she is right. I hope you will forget all about this, and believe me to be your true friend,

"ALICE GARSCUBE.

"P.S. Lady Arthur says you haven't got anything to live on; but if you had all the wealth in the world, it wouldn't make any difference.

"A. G."

This note fell into George Eildon's mind like molten lead dropped onliving flesh. "She is not what I took her to be," he said tohimself, "or she never could have written that, even at Lady Arthur'ssuggestion; and Lady Arthur ought to have known better."

And she certainly ought to have known better; yet he might have foundsome excuse for Alice if he had allowed himself to think, but he didnot: he only felt, and felt very keenly.

In saying that Mr. Eildon and Miss Garscube were penniless, the remarkis not to be taken literally, for he had an income of fifteen hundredpounds, and she had five hundred a year of her own; but in the eyes ofpeople moving in ducal circles matrimony on two thousand pounds seemsas improvident a step as that of the Irishman who marries when he hasaccumulated sixpence appears to ordinary beings.

Mr. Eildon spent six weeks at a shooting-box belonging to his unclethe duke, after which he went to London, where he got a post undergovernment--a place which was by no means a sinecure, but where therewas plenty of work not over-paid. Before leaving he called for a fewminutes at Garscube Hall to say good-bye, and that was all they saw ofhim.

Alice missed him: a very good thing, of which she had been asunconscious as she was of the atmosphere, had been withdrawn from herlife. George's letter had nailed him to her memory: she thought of himvery often, and that is a dangerous thing for a young lady to do ifshe means to keep herself entirely fancy free. She wondered if hiswork was very hard work, and if he was shut in an office all day; shedid not think he was made for that; it seemed as unnatural as puttinga bird into a cage. She made some remark of this kind to Lady Arthur,who laughed and said, "Oh, George won't kill himself with hard work."From that time forth Alice was shy of speaking of him to his aunt.But she had kept his letter, and indulged herself with a reading of itoccasionally; and every time she read it she seemed to understand itbetter. It was a mystery to her how she had been so intensely stupidas not to understand it at first. And when she found a copy of her ownanswer to it among her papers--one she had thrown aside on account ofa big blot--she wondered if it was possible she had sent such a thing,and tears of shame and regret stood in her eyes. "How frightfullyblind I was!" she said to herself. But there was no help for it: thething was done, and could not be undone. She had grown in wisdom sincethen, but most people reach wisdom through ignorance and folly.

In these circumstances she found Miss Adamson a very valuable friend.Miss Adamson had never shared Lady Arthur's low estimate of Mr.Eildon: she liked his sweet, unworldly nature, and she had a regardfor him as having aims both lower and higher than a "career." Thathe should love Miss Garscube seemed to her natural and good, andthat happiness might be possible even to a duke's grandson on such apittance as two thousand pounds a year was an article of her belief:she pitied people who go through life sacrificing the substance forthe shadow. Yes, Miss Garscube could speak of Mr. Eildon to her friendand teacher, and be sure of some remark that gave her comfort.

V.

A year sped round again, and they heard of Mr. Eildon being inScotland at the shooting, and as he was not very far off, theyexpected to see him any time. But it was getting to the end ofSeptember, and he had paid no visit, when one day, as the ladies weresitting at luncheon, he came in, looking very white and agitated. Theywere all startled: Miss Garscube grew white also, and felt herselftrembling. Lady Arthur rose hurriedly and said, "What is it, George?what's the matter?"

"A strange thing has happened," he said. "I only heard of it afew minutes ago: a man rode after me with the telegram. My cousinGeorge--Lord Eildon--has fallen down a crevasse in the Alps and beenkilled. Only a week ago I parted with him full of life and spirit,and I loved him as if he had been my brother;" and he bent his head tohide tears.

They were all silent for some moments: then in a low voice Lady Arthursaid, "I am sorry for his father."

"I am sorry for them all," George said. "It is terrible;" then after alittle he said, "You'll excuse my leaving you: I am going to Eildon atonce: I may be of some service to them. I don't know how Frank will beable to bear this."

After he had gone away Alice felt how thoroughly she was nothing tohim now: there had been no sign in his manner that he had ever thoughtof her at all, more than of any other ordinary acquaintance. If he hadonly looked to her for the least sympathy! But he had not. "If he onlyknew how well I understand him now!" she thought.

"It is a dreadful accident," said Lady Arthur, "and I am sorry for theduke and duchess." She said this in a calm way. It had always been heropinion that Lord Arthur's relations had never seen the magnitude of_her_ loss, and this feeling lowered the temperature of her sympathy,as a wind blowing over ice cools the atmosphere. "I think George'sgrief very genuine," she continued: "at the same time he can't but seethat there is only that delicate lad's life, that has been hanging solong by a hair, between him and the title."

"Lady Arthur!" exclaimed Alice in warm tones.

"I know, my dear, you are thinking me very unfeeling, but I am not: Iam only a good deal older than you. George's position to-day is verydifferent from what it was a year ago. If he were to write to youagain, I would advise another kind of answer."

"He'll never write again," said Alice in a tone which struck the earof Lady Arthur, so that when the young girl left the room she turnedto Miss Adamson and said, "Do you think she really cares about him?"

"She has not made me her confidante," that lady answered, "but my ownopinion is that she does care a good deal for Mr. Eildon."

"Do you really think so?" exclaimed Lady Arthur. "She said she did notat the time, and I thought then, and think still, that it would notsignify much to George whom he married; and you know he would be somuch the better for money. But if he is to be his uncle's successor,that alters the case entirely. I'll go to Eildon myself, and bring himback with me."

Lady Arthur went to Eildon and mingled her tears with those of thestricken parents, whose grief might have moved a very much harderheart than hers. But they did not see the state of their onlyremaining son as Lady Arthur and others saw it; for, while it wascommonly thought that he would hardly reach maturity, they weresanguine enough to believe that he was outgrowing the delicacy of hischildhood.

Lady Arthur asked George to return with her to Garscube Hall, buthe said he could not possibly do so. Then she said she had told MissAdamson and Alice that she would bring him with her, and they would bedisappointed.

"Tell them," he said, "that I have very little time to spare, and Imust spend it with Frank, when I am sure they will excuse me."

They excused him, but they were not the less disappointed, all thethree ladies; indeed, they were so much disappointed that they did notspeak of the thing to each other, as people chatter over and therebyevaporate a trifling defeat of hopes.

Mr. Eildon left his cousin only to visit his mother and sisters for aday, and then returned to London; from which it appeared that he wasnot excessively anxious to visit Garscube Hall.

But everything there went on as usual. The ladies painted, they wentexcursions, they wrote ballads; still, there was a sense of somethingbeing amiss--the heart of their lives seemed dull in its beat.

The more Lady Arthur thought of having sent away such a matrimonialprize from her house, the more she was chagrined; the more MissGarscube tried not to think of Mr. Eildon, the more her thoughts wouldrun upon him; and even Miss Adamson, who had nothing to regret orreproach herself with, could not help being influenced by the changeof atmosphere.

Lady Arthur's thoughts issued in the resolution to re-enter societyonce more; which resolution she imparted to Miss Adamson in the firstinstance by saying that she meant to go to London next season.

"Then our plan of life here will be quite broken up," said Miss A.

"Yes, for a time."

"I thought you disliked society?"

"I don't much like it: it is on account of Alice I am going. I mayjust as well tell you: I want to bring her and George together againif possible."

"Will she go if she knows that is your end?"

"She need not know."

"It is not a very dignified course," Miss Adamson said.

"No, and if it were an ordinary case I should not think of it."

"But you think him a very ordinary man?"

"A duke is different. Consider what an amount of influence Alicewould have, and how well she would use it; and he may marry a vain,frivolous, senseless woman, incapable of a good action. Indeed, mostlikely, for such people are sure to hunt him."

"I would not join in the hunt," said Miss Adamson. "If he is the manyou suppose him to be, the wound his self-love got will have killedhis love; and if he is the man I think, no hunters will make him theirprey. A small man would know instantly why you went to London, andenjoy his triumph."

"I don't think George would: he is too simple; but if I did not thinkit a positive duty, I would not go. However, we shall see: I don'tthink of going before the middle of January."

Positive duties can be like the animals that change color with whatthey feed on.

VI.

When the middle of January came, Lady Arthur, who had never had anillness in her life, was measuring her strength in a hand-to-handstruggle with fever. The water was blamed, the drainage was blamed,various things were blamed. Whether it came in the water or out of thedrains, gastric fever had arrived at Garscube Hall: the gardener tookit, his daughter took it, also Thomas the footman, and others of theinhabitants, as well as Lady Arthur. The doctor of the place came andlived In the house; besides that, two of the chief medical men fromtown paid almost daily visits. Bottles of the water supplied to thehall were sent to eminent chemists for analysis: the drainage wasthoroughly examined, and men were set to make it as perfect andinnocuous as it is in the nature of drainage to be.

Lady Arthur wished Miss Adamson and Alice to leave the place for atime, but they would not do so: neither of them was afraid, and theystayed and nursed her ladyship well, relieving each other as it wasnecessary.

At one point of her illness Lady Arthur said to Miss Adamson, who wasalone with her, "Well, I never counted on this. Our family have allhad a trick of living to extreme old age, never dying till they couldnot help it; but it will be grand to get away so soon."

Miss Adamson looked at her. "Yes," she said, "it's a poor thing,life, after the glory of it is gone, and I have always had an intensecuriosity to see what is beyond. I never could see the sense of makinga great ado to keep people alive after they are fifty. Don't looksurprised. How are the rest of the people that are ill?" She oftenasked for them, and expressed great satisfaction when told they wererecovering. "It will be all right," she said, "if I am the only deathin the place; but there is one thing I want you to do. Send off atelegram to George Eildon and tell him I want to see him immediately:a dying person can say what a living one can't, and I'll make it allright between Alice and him before I go."

Miss Adamson despatched the telegram to Mr. Eildon, knowing that shecould not refuse to do Lady Arthur's bidding at such a time, althoughher feeling was against it. The answer came: Mr. Eildon had justsailed for Australia.

When Lady Arthur heard this she said, "I'll write to him." When shehad finished writing she said, "You'll send this to him whenever youget his address. I wish we could have sent it off at once, for it willbe provoking if I don't die, after all; and I positively begin to feelas if that were not going to be my luck at this time."

Although she spoke in this way, Miss Adamson knew it was not fromfoolish irreverence. She recovered, and all who had had the feverrecovered, which was remarkable, for in other places it had been veryfatal.

With Lady Arthur's returning strength things at the hall wore intotheir old channels again. When it was considered safe many visitsof congratulation were paid, and among others who came were GeorgeEildon's mother and some of his sisters. They were constantly havingletters from George: he had gone off very suddenly, and it was notcertain when he might return.

Alice heard of George Eildon with interest, but not with the vitalinterest she had felt in him for a time: that had worn away. She haddone her best to this end by keeping herself always occupied, and manythings had happened in the interval; besides, she had grown a woman,with all the good sense and right feeling belonging to womanhood, andshe would have been ashamed to cherish a love for one who had entirelyforgotten her. She dismissed her childish letter, which had given herso much vexation, from her memory, feeling sure that George Eildon hadalso forgotten it long ago. She did not know of the letter Lady Arthurhad written when she believed herself to be dying, and it was well shedid not.

VII.

Every one who watched the sun rise on New Year's morning, 1875, willbear witness to the beauty of the sight. Snow had been lying all overthe country for some time, and a fortnight of frost had made it hardand dry and crisp. The streams must have felt very queer when theywere dropping off into the mesmeric trance, and found themselvesstopped in the very act of running, their supple limbs growing stiffand heavy and their voices dying in their throats, till they werethrown into a deep sleep, and a strange white, still, glassy beautystole over them by the magic power of frost. The sun got up ratherlate, no doubt--between eight and nine o'clock--probably saying tohimself, "These people think I have lost my power--that the Ice Kinghas it all his own way. I'll let them see: I'll make his glory palebefore mine."

Lady Arthur was standing at her window when she saw him look over theshoulder of a hill and throw a brilliant deep gold light all over theland covered with snow as with a garment, and every minute crystalglittered as if multitudes of little eyes had suddenly opened and weregleaming and winking under his gaze. To say that the bosom of MotherEarth was crusted with diamonds is to give the impression of dullnessunless each diamond could be endowed with life and emotion. Then hethrew out shaft after shaft of color--scarlet and crimson and blue andamber and green--which gleamed along the heavens, kindling the coldwhite snow below them into a passion of beauty: the colors floated andchanged form, and mingled and died away. Then the sun drew his thickwinter clouds about him, disappeared, and was no more seen that day.He had vindicated his majesty.

Lady Arthur thought it was going to be a bright winter day, and atbreakfast she proposed a drive to Cockhoolet Castle, an old placewithin driving distance to which she paid periodical visits: theywould take luncheon on the battlements and see all over the country,which must be looking grand in its bridal attire.

John was called in and asked if he did not think it was going to bea fine day. He glanced through the windows at the dark,suspicious-looking clouds and said, "Weel, my leddy, I'll no uphaudit." This was the answer of a courtier and an oracle, not to mentiona Scotchman. It did not contradict Lady Arthur, it did not commithimself, and it was cautious.

"I think it will be a fine day of its kind," said the lady, "and we'lldrive to Cockhoolet. Have the carriage ready at ten."

"If we dinna wun a' the gate, we can but turn again," John thought ashe retired to execute his orders.

"It is not looking so well as it did in the morning," said MissAdamson as they entered the carriage, "but if we have an adventure weshall be the better for it."

"We shall have no such luck," said Lady Arthur: "what ever happens outof the usual way now? There used to be glorious snowstorms long ago,but the winters have lost their rigor, and there are no such longsummer days now as there were when I was young. Neither persons northings have that spirit in them they used to have;" and she smiled,catching in thought the fact that to the young the world is still asfresh and fair as it has appeared to all the successive generations ithas carried on its surface.

"This is a wiselike expedition," said Thomas to John.

"Ay," said John, "I'm mista'en if this is no a day that'll be heardtell o' yet;" and they mounted to their respective places and started.

The sky was very grim and the wind had been gradually rising. Thethree ladies sat each in her corner, saying little, and feeling thatthis drive was certainly a means to an end, and not an end in itself.Their pace had not been very quick from the first, but it becamegradually slower, and the hard dry snow was drifting past the windowsin clouds. At last they came to a stand altogether, and John appearedat the window like a white column and said, "My leddy, we'll hae tostop here."

"Stop! why?"

"Because it's impossible to wun ony farrer."

"Nonsense! There's no such word as impossible."

"The beasts might maybe get through, but they wad leave the carriageahint them."

"Let me out to look about," said Lady Arthur.

"Ye had better bide where ye are," said John: "there's naething to beseen, and ye wad but get yersel' a' snaw. We might try to gang backthe road we cam."

"We'll get out and walk," said her ladyship, looking at the otherladies.

"Wi' the wind in yer teeth, and sinking up to yer cuits at every step?Ye wad either be blawn ower the muir like a feather, or planted amangthe snaw like Lot's wife. I might maybe force my way through, but Icanna leave the horses," said John.

Lady Arthur was fully more concerned for her horses than herself: shesaid, "Take out the horses and go to Cockhoolet: leave them to restand feed, and tell Mr. Ormiston to send for us. We'll sit here verycomfortably till you come back: it won't take you long. Thomas will gotoo, but give us in the luncheon-basket first."

The men, being refreshed from the basket, set off with the horses,leaving the ladies getting rapidly snowed up in the carriage. As thewind rose almost to a gale, Lady Arthur remarked "that it was at leastbetter to be stuck firm among the snow than to be blown away."

It is a grand thing to suffer in a great cause, but if you suffermerely because you have done a "daftlike" thing, the satisfaction isnot the same.

The snow sifted into the carriage at the minutest crevice like finedust, and, melting, became cold, clammy and uncomfortable. To be setdown in a glass case on a moor without shelter in the height of asnowstorm has only one recommendation: it is an uncommon situation,a novel experience. The ladies--at least Lady Arthur--must, one wouldthink, have felt foolish, but it is a chief qualification in a leaderthat he never acknowledges that he is in the wrong: if he once doesthat, his prestige is gone.

The first hour of isolation wore away pretty well, owing to thenovelty of the the position; the second also, being devoted toluncheon; the third dragged a good deal; but when it came to thefourth; with light beginning to fail and no word of rescue, matterslooked serious. The cold was becoming intense--a chill, damp cold thatstruck every living thing through and through. What could be keepingthe men? Had they lost their way, or what could possibly havehappened?

"This is something like an adventure," said Lady Arthur cheerily.

"It might pass for one," said Miss Adamson, "if we could see our wayout of it. I wonder if we shall have to sit here all night?"

"If we do," said Lady Arthur, "we can have no hope of wild beastsscenting us out or of being attacked by banditti."

"Nor of any enamored gentleman coming to the rescue," said MissAdamson: "it will end tamely enough. I remember reading a story oftravel among savages, in which at the close of the monthly instalmentthe travelers were left buried alive except their heads, which wereabove ground, but set on fire. That was a very striking situation, yetit all came right; so there is hope for us, I think."

"It's a fine discipline to our patience to sit here," said LadyArthur. "If I had thought we should have to wait so long, I would havetried what I could do while it was light."

VIII.

At length they heard a movement among the snow, and voices, andimmediately a light appeared at the window, shining through thesnow-blind, which was swept down by an arm and the carriage-dooropened.

"Are you all safe?" were the first words they heard.

"In the name of wonder, George, how are you here? Where are John andThomas?" cried Lady Arthur.

"I'll tell you all about it after," said George Eildon: "the thing isto get you out of this scrape. I have a farm-cart and pair, and twomen to help me: you must just put up with roughing it a little."

"Oh, I am so thankful!" said Alice.

The ladies were assisted out of the carriage into the cart, andsettled among plenty of straw and rugs and shawls, with their backs tothe blast. Mr. Eildon shut the door of the carriage, which was leftto its fate, and then got in and sat at the feet of the ladies. Mr.Ormiston's servant mounted the trace-horse and Thomas sat on the frontof the cart, and the cavalcade started to toil through the snow.

"Do tell us, George, how you are here. I thought it was only heroes ofromance that turned up when their services were desperately needed."

"There have been a good many heroes of romance to-day," said Mr.Eildon. "The railways have been blocked in all directions; threetrains with about six hundred passengers have been brought to a standat the Drumhead Station near this; many of the people have been halffrozen and sick and fainting. I was in the train going south, and veryanxious to get on, but it was impossible. I got to Cockhoolet with anumber of exhausted travelers just as your man arrived, and we cameoff as soon as we could to look for you. You have stood the thing muchbetter than many of my fellow-travelers."

"Indeed!" said Lady Arthur, "and have all the poor people got housed?"

"Most of them are at the station-house and various farm-houses. Mr.Forester, Mr. Ormiston's son-in-law, started to bring up the last ofthem just as I started for you."

"Well, I must say I have enjoyed it," Lady Arthur said, "but how arewe to get home to-night?"

"You'll not get home to-night: you'll have to stay at Cockhoolet, andbe glad if you can get home to-morrow."

"And where have you come from, and where are you going to?" she asked.

"I came from London--I have only been a week home from Australia--andI am on my way to Eildon. But here we are."

And the hospitable doors of Cockhoolet were thrown wide, sending out aglow of light to welcome the belated travelers.

Mrs. Ormiston and her daughter, Mrs. Forester--who with her husbandwas on a visit at Cockhoolet--received them and took them torooms where fires made what seemed tropical heat compared with theatmosphere in the glass case on the moor.

Miss Garscube was able for nothing but to go to bed, and Miss Adamsonstayed with her in the room called Queen Mary's, being the room thatunfortunate lady occupied when she visited Cockhoolet.

On this night the castle must have thought old times had come backagain, there was such a large and miscellaneous company beneath itsroof. But where were the knights in armor, the courtiers in velvet andsatin, the boars' heads, the venison pasties, the wassail-bowls? Wherewere the stately dames in stiff brocade, the shaven priests, thefool in motley, the vassals, the yeomen in hodden gray and broad bluebonnet? Not there, certainly.

No doubt, Lady Arthur Eildon was a direct descendant of one of "thequeen's Maries," but in her rusty black gown, her old black bonnet setawry on her head, her red face, her stout figure, made stouter by asealskin jacket, you could not at a glance see the connection. Thehouse of Eildon was pretty closely connected with the house of Stuart,but George Eildon in his tweed suit, waterproof and wideawake lookedneither royal nor romantic. We may be almost sure that there was afool or fools in the company, but they did not wear motley. In short,as yet it is difficult to connect the idea of romance with railwayrugs, waterproofs, India-rubbers and wide-awakes and the steam of teaand coffee: three hundred years hence perhaps it may be possible.Who knows? But for all that, romances go on, we may be sure, whetherpeople are clad in velvet or hodden gray.

Lady Arthur was framing a romance--a romance which had as much of thepurely worldly in it as a romance can hold. She found that George wason his way to see his cousin, Lord Eildon, who within two days hadhad a severe access of illness. It seemed to her a matter of certaintythat George would be duke of Eildon some day. If she had only hadthe capacity to have despatched that letter she had written when shebelieved she was dying, after him to Australia! Could she send it tohim yet? She hesitated: she could hardly bring herself to compromisethe dignity of Alice, and her own. She had a short talk with himbefore they separated for the night.

"I think you should go home by railway to-morrow," he said. "It isblowing fresh now, and the trains will all be running to-morrow. I amsorry I have to go by the first in the morning, so I shall probablynot see you then,"

"I don't know," she said: "it is a question if Alice will be able totravel at all to-morrow."

"She is not ill, is she?" he said. "It is only a little fatigue fromexposure that ails her, isn't it?"

"But it may have bad consequences," said Lady Arthur: "one never cantell;" and she spoke in an injured way, for George's tones were notencouraging. "And John, my coachman--I haven't seen him--he ought tohave been at hand at least: if I could depend on any one, I thought itwas him."

"Why, he was overcome in the drift to-day: your other man had to leavehim behind and ride forward for help. It was digging him out of thesnow that kept us so long in getting to you. He has been in bed eversince, but he is getting round quite well."

"I ought to have known that sooner," she said.

"I did not want to alarm you unnecessarily."

"I must go and see him;" and she held out her hand to say good-night."But you'll come to Garscube Hall soon: I shall be anxious to hearwhat you think of Frank. When will you come?"

"I'll write," he said.

Lady Arthur felt that opportunity was slipping from her, and she grewdesperate. "Speaking of writing," she said, "I wrote to you when Ihad the fever last year and thought I was dying: would you like to seethat letter?"

"No," he said: "I prefer you living."

"Have you no curiosity? People can say things dying that they couldn'tsay living, perhaps."

"Well, they have no business to do so," he said. "It is taking anunfair advantage, which a generous nature never does; besides, it ismore solemn to live than die."

"Then you don't want the letter?"

"Oh yes, if you like."

"Very well: I'll think of it. Can you show me the way to John's placeof refuge?"

They found John sitting up in bed, and Mrs, Ormiston ministering tohim: the remains of a fowl were on a plate beside him, and he waslifting a glass of something comfortable to his lips.

"I never knew of this, John," said his mistress, "till just a fewminutes ago. This is sad."

"Weel, it doesna look very sad," said John, eying the plate and theglass. "Yer leddyship and me hae gang mony a daftlike road, but Ithink we fairly catched it the day."

"I don't know how we can be grateful enough to you, Mrs. Ormiston,"said Lady Arthur, turning to their hostess.

"Well, you know we could hardly be so churlish as to shut our doors onstorm-stayed travelers: we are very glad that we had it in our powerto help them a little."

"It's by ordinar' gude quarters," said John: "I've railly enjoyed thathen. Is 't no time yer leddyship was in yer bed, after siccan a day'swark?"

"We'll take the hint, John," said Lady Arthur; and in a little whilelonger most of Mr. Ormiston's unexpected guests had lost sight of theday's adventure in sleep.

IX.

By dawn of the winter's morning all the company, the railway pilgrims,were astir again--not to visit a shrine, or attend a tournament, or togo hunting or hawking, or to engage in a foray or rieving expedition,as guests of former days at the castle may have done, but quietly tomake their way to the station as the different trains came up, thefresh wind having done more to clear the way than the army of menthat had been set to work with pickaxe and shovel. But although therailways and the tweeds and the India-rubbers were modern, the castleand the snow and the hospitality were all very old-fashioned--the snowas old as that lying round the North Pole, and as unadulterated; thehospitality old as when Eve entertained Raphael in Eden, and as true,blessing those that give and those that take.

Mr. Eildon left with the first party that went to the station; LadyArthur and the young ladies went away at midday; John was left totake care of himself and his carriage till both should be more fit fortraveling.

Of the three ladies, Alice had suffered most from the severe cold, andit was some time before she entirely recovered from the effects of it.Lady Arthur convinced herself that it was not merely the effectsof cold she was suffering from, and talked the case over with MissAdamson, but that lady stoutly rejected Lady Arthur's idea. "MissGarscube has got over that long ago, and so has Mr. Eildon," she saiddryly. "Alice has far more sense than to nurse a feeling for a manevidently indifferent to her." These two ladies had exchanged opinionsexactly. George Eildon had only called once, and on a day when theywere all from home: he had written several times to his aunt regardingLord Eildon's health, and Lady Arthur had written to him and had toldhim her anxiety about the health of Alice. He expressed sympathy andconcern, as his mother might have done, but Lady Arthur would notallow herself to see that the case was desperate.

She had a note from her sister-in-law, Lady George, who said "that shehad just been at Eildon, and in her opinion Frank was going, but hisparents either can't or won't see this, or George either. It is a sadcase--so young a man and with such prospects--but the world abounds insad things," etc., etc. But sad as the world is, it is shrewd with awisdom of its own, and it hardly believed in the grief of Lady Georgefor an event which would place her own son in a position of honor andaffluence. But many a time George Eildon recoiled from the people whodid not conceal their opinion that he might not be broken-heartedat the death of his cousin. There is nothing that true, honorable,unworldly natures shrink from more than having low, unworthy feelingsand motives attributed to them.

X.

Lady Arthur Eildon made up her mind. "I am supposed," she said toherself, "to be eccentric: why not get the good of such a character?"She enclosed her dying letter to her nephew, which was nothing lessthan an appeal to him on behalf of Alice, assuring him of her beliefthat Alice bitterly regretted the answer she had given his letter, andthat if she had it to do over again it would be very different. WhenLady Arthur did this she felt that she was not doing as she would bedone by, but the stake was too great not to try a last throw for it.In an accompanying note she said, "I believe that the statements inthis letter still hold true. I blamed myself afterward for havinginfluenced Alice when she wrote to you, and now I have absolved myconscience." (Lady Arthur put it thus, but she hardly succeededin making herself believe it was a case of conscience: she was toosharp-witted. It is self-complacent stupidity that is morally small.)"If this letter is of no interest to you, I am sure I am trusting itto honorable hands."

She got an answer immediately. "I thank you," Mr. Eildon said, "foryour letters, ancient and modern: they are both in the fire, and sofar as I am concerned shall be as if they had never been."

It was in vain, then, all in vain, that she had humbled herself beforeGeorge Eildon. Not only had her scheme failed, but her pride suffered,as your finger suffers when the point of it is shut by accident in thehinge of a door. The pain was terrible. She forgot her conscience, howshe had dealt treacherously--for her good, as she believed, but stilltreacherously--with Alice Garscube: she forgot everything but herown pain, and those about her thought that decidedly she was veryeccentric at this time. She snubbed her people, she gave orders andcountermanded them, so that her servants did not know what to do orleave undone, and they shook their heads among themselves and remarkedthat the moon was at the full.

But of course the moon waned, and things calmed down a little. In thenext note she received from her sister-in-law, among other itemsof news she was told that her nephew meant to visit hershortly--"Probably," said his mother, "this week, but I think it willonly be a call. He says Lord Eildon is rather better, which has put usall in good spirits," etc.

Now, Lady Arthur did not wish to see George Eildon at this time--notthat she could not keep a perfect and dignified composure in anycircumstances, but her pride was still in the hinge of the door--andshe went from home every day. Three days she had business in town: theother days she drove to call on people living in the next county. Asshe did not care for going about alone, she took Miss Adamson alwayswith her, but Alice only once or twice: she was hardly able forextra fatigue every day. But Miss Garscube was recovering health andspirits, and looks also, and when Lady Arthur left her behind shethought, "Well, if George calls to-day, he'll see that he is not anecessary of life at least." She felt very grateful that it was so,and had no objections that George should see it.

He did see it, for he called that day, but he had not the leastfeeling of mortification: he was unfeignedly glad to see Alice lookingso well, and he had never, he thought, seen her look better. Afterthey had spoken in the most quiet and friendly way for a little shesaid, "And how is your cousin, Lord Eildon?"

"Nearly well: his constitution seems at last fairly to have takena turn in the right direction. The doctors say that not only is helikely to live as long as any of us, but that the probability is hewill be a robust man yet."

"Oh, I am glad of it--I am heartily glad of it!"

"Why are you so very glad?"

"Because you are: it has made you very happy--you look so."

"I am excessively happy because you believe I am happy. Many peopledon't: many people think I am disappointed. My own mother thinks so,and yet she is a good woman. People will believe that you wish thedeath of your dearest friend if he stands between you and materialgood. It is horrible, and I have been courted and worshiped as therising sun;" and he laughed. "One can afford to laugh at it now, butit was very sickening at the time. I can afford anything, Alice: Ibelieve I can even afford to marry, if you'll marry a hard-working maninstead of a duke."

"Oh, George," she said, "I have been so ashamed of that letter Iwrote."

"It was a wicked little letter," he said, "but I suppose it was thetruth at the time: say it is not true now."

"It is not true now," she repeated, "but I have not loved you verydearly all the time; and if you had married I should have been veryhappy if you had been happy. But oh," she said, and her eyes filledwith tears, "this is far better."

"You love me now?"

"Unutterably."

"I have loved you all the time, all the time. I should not have beenhappy if I had heard of your marriage."

"Then how were you so cold and distant the day we stuck on the moor?"

"Because it was excessively cold weather: I was not going to warmmyself up to be frozen again. I have never been in delicate health,but I can't stand heats and chills."

"I do believe you are not a bit wiser than I am. I hear the carriage:that's Lady Arthur come back. How surprised she will be!"

"I am not so sure of that," George said. "I'll go and meet her."

When he appeared Lady Arthur shook hands tranquilly and said, "How doyou do?"

"Very well," he said. "I have been testing the value of certaindocuments you sent me, and find they are worth their weight in gold."

She looked in his face.

"Alice is mine," he said, "and we are going to Bashan for ourwedding-tour. If you'll seize the opportunity of our escort, you mayhunt up Og's bed."

"Thank you," she said: "I fear I should be _de trop_."

"Not a bit; but even if you were a great nuisance, we are in the humorto put up with anything."

"I'll think of it. I have never traveled in the character of anuisance yet--at least, so far as I know--and it would be a newsensation: that is a great inducement."

Lady Arthur rushed to Miss Adamson's room with the news, and thetwo ladies had first a cry and then a laugh over it. "Alice will beduchess yet," said Lady Arthur: "that boy's life has hung so long by athread that he must be prepared to go, and he would be far better awayfrom the cares and trials of this world, I am sure;" which might bethe truth, but it was hard to grudge the boy his life.

Lady Arthur was in brilliant spirits at dinner that evening. "Isuppose you are going to live on love," she said.

"I am going to work for my living," said George.

"Very right," she said; "but, although I got better last year, I can'tlive for ever, and when I'm gone Alice will have the Garscube estates:I have always intended it."

"Madam," said George, "do you not know that the great lexicographerhas said in one of his admirable works, 'Let no man suffer hisfelicity to depend upon the death of his aunt'?"

It is said that whenever a Liberal ministry comes in Mr. Eildon willbe offered the governorship of one of the colonies. Lady Arthur mayyet live to be astonished by his "career," and at least she is notlikely to regret her dying letter.

THE AUTHOR OF "BLINDPITS."

THE HOUSE ON THE BEACH.

"What is that black mass yonder, far up the beach, just at the edge ofthe breakers?"

The fisherman to whom we put the question drew in his squid-line, handover hand, without turning his head, having given the same answer forhalf a dozen years to summer tourists: "Wreck. Steamer. Creole."

"Were there many lives lost?"

"It's likely. This is the worst bit of coast in the country, TheCreole was a three-decker," looking at it reflectively, "Lot of goodtimber there."

As we turned our field-glasses to the black lump hunched out of thewater, like a great sea-monster creeping up on the sand, we saw stillfarther up the coast a small house perched on a headland, with a flagflying in the gray mist, and pointed it out to the Jerseyman, whonodded: "That there wooden shed is the United States signal station;"adding, after a pause, "Life-saving service down stairs."

"Old Probabilities! The house he lives in!"

"Life-boats!"

Visions of the mysterious old prophet who utters his oracles throughthe morning paper, of wrecks and storms, and of heroic men carryinglines through the night to sinking ships, filled our brains.Townspeople out for their summer holiday have keen appetites for theromantic and extraordinary, and manufacture them (as sugar from beets)out of the scantiest materials. We turned our backs on the fishermanand his squid-line. The signal station and the hull of the lost vesselwere only a shed and timber to him. How can any man be alive to thesignificance of a wreck and fluttering flag which he sees twenty timesa day? Noah, no doubt, after a year in the ark, came to look upon itas so much gopher-wood, and appreciated it as a good job of joineryrather than a divine symbol.

We believe, however, that our readers will find in the wrecked Creoleand the wooden shed, and the practical facts concerning them, mattersuggestive enough to hold them a little space. They fill a yetunwritten page in the history of our government, and of great andadmirable work done by it, of which the nation at large has beengiven but partial knowledge. Or, if we choose to look more deeply intothings, we may find in the old hulk and commonplace building hints assignificant of the Infinite Order and Power underlying all ordinarythings, and of our relations to it, as in the long-ago Deluge and theark riding over it.

The little wooden house stands upon a lonely stretch of coast in Oceancounty, New Jersey. Several miles of low barren marshes and sands graywith poverty-grass on the north separate it from Manasquan Inlet andthe pine woods and scattered farm-houses which lie along its shore,while half a mile below, on the south, is the head of Barnegat Bay,a deep, narrow estuary which runs into and along the Jersey coast formore than half its extent, leaving outside a strip of sandy beach,never more than a mile wide. All kinds of sea fish and fowl takerefuge in this bay and the interminable reedy marshes, and for a fewweeks in the snipe-and duck-season sportsmen from New York find theirway to "Shattuck's" and the houses of other old water-dogs along thebay. But during the rest of the year the wooden shed and its occupantsare left to the companionship of the sea and the winds.

The little building (with a gigantic "No. 10" whitewashed outside)stands close to the breakers, just above high-water mark in winter. Itis divided into two large rooms, upper and lower, with a tiny kitchenin the rear and an equally comfortless bedroom overhead. The doors ofthe lower room (which, like those of a barn, fill the whole end of thehouse) being closed, we sought for Old Probabilities up stairs, andfound very little at first sight to gratify curiosity or any cravingfor mystery. There was a large wooden room, with walls and floor ofunpainted boards, the ceiling hung with brilliantly colored flags, atelegraphic apparatus, one or two desks, books, writing materials--ascientific working-room, in short, with its implements in that orderwhich implied that only men had used them.

There were in 1874 one hundred and eight such signal stations asthis, modest, inexpensive little offices, established over the UnitedStates, from the low sea-coast plains to the topmost peak of the RockyMountains.

If we were accurate chroniclers, we should have to go back toAristotle and the Chaldeans to show the origin and purpose of theselittle offices, just as Carlyle has to unearth Ulfila the Moesogoth toexplain a word he uses to his butter-man. The world is so new, afterall, and things so inextricably tangled up in it! In this case, asit is the sun and wind and rain which are the connecting links, it iseasy enough to bring past ages close to us. The Chaldeans, buildingtheir great embankments or raiding upon Job's herds, are no longer amyth to us when we remember that they were wet by the rain and anxiousabout the weather and their crops, just as we are; in fact, they feltsuch matters so keenly, and were so little able to cope with theseunknown forces, that they made gods of them, and then, beyond prayersand sacrifices, troubled themselves no further about the matter.Even the shrewd, observant Hebrews, living out of doors, a race ofshepherds and herdsmen, never looked for any rational cause for windor storm, but regarded them, if not as gods, as the messengers of God,subject to no rules. It was He who at His will covered the heavenswith clouds, who prepared rain, who cast forth hoar-frost like ashes:the stormy wind fulfilled His word. Men searched into the constructionof their own minds, busied themselves with subtle philosophies, witharts and sciences, conquered the principles of Form and Color, andmade not wholly unsuccessful efforts to solve the mystery of the sunand stars; but it was not until 340 B.C. that any notice was taken ofthe every-day matters of wind and heat and rain.

Aristotle, the Gradgrind of philosophers, first noted down the knownfacts on this subject in his work _On Meteors_. His theories anddeductions were necessarily erroneous, but he struck the foundation ofall science, the collection of known facts. Theophrastus, one of hispupils, made a compilation of prognostics concerning rain, windand storm, and there investigation ceased for ages. For nearly twothousand years the citizens of the world rose every morning to rejoicein fair weather or be wet by showers, to see their crops destroyedby frost or their ships by winds, and never made a single attempt todiscover any scientific reason or rules in the matter--apparentlydid not suspect that there was any cause or effect behind these dailyoccurrences. They accounted for wind or rain as our grandfathers didfor a sudden death, by the "visitation of God." In fact, Nature--whichis the expression of Law most inexorable and minute--was the very lastplace where mankind looked to find law at all.

About two hundred and thirty years ago Torricelli discovered thatthe atmosphere, the space surrounding the earth, which seemed moreintangible than a dream, had weight and substance, and invented thebarometer, the tiny tube and drop of mercury by which it could beseized and held and weighed as accurately as a pound of lead. As soonas this invisible air was proved to be matter, the whole force ofscientific inquiry was directed toward it. The thermometer, by whichits heat or cold could be measured--the hygrometer, which weighed,literally by a hair, its moisture or dryness--were the results of theresearch of comparatively a few years. Somewhat later came the curiousinstrument which measures its velocity. As soon as it was thus madepracticable for any intelligent observer to handle, weigh and testevery quality of the air, it became evident that wind and storm, eventhe terrible cyclone, were not irresponsible forces, carrying healthor death to and fro where they listed, but the result of plain,